


Working On It

by cecropia



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alcohol, Con Artists, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecropia/pseuds/cecropia
Summary: “So we’re preying on the depressed now too, huh?”
Relationships: Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy, Jared Kleinman & Connor Murphy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	Working On It

**Author's Note:**

> writing for DEH??? me???  
> listen I’ve had this idea for a while but only after watching the early 2000s movie Heartbreakers did I decide that I NEEDED TO DO IT NOW.  
> pls let me know what u think, love y’all 💞
> 
> come scream at me about DEH on tumblr! c-e-c-r-o-p-i-a :)

The bar is too goddamn loud. People are everywhere, bumping into each other and brushing past Connor’s shoulders and pressing each other against the wall and leaning against the bar and picking fights over the pool tables, and Connor’s head is absolutely fucking  _ pounding _ . He rubs absentmindedly at his temples, checking his phone for the third time in the past fifteen minutes. If he’s lucky, they’ll be out of here by at least midnight. 

“How ‘bout him? He looks… depressed. Lifeless. Kinda like you, actually.”

“So we’re preying on the depressed now too, huh?” Connor drones, pressing his cheek even further into his hand. Jared rolls his eyes, lazily turning to glance at Connor out of the corner of his eye. 

“Since when did we  _ not _ ?” Jared asks, laughing once. “C’mon, Murphy. Don’t tell me you’ve lost your touch.”

“Not in the mood,” Connor murmurs. “You do it.” He stirs his drink around with his straw, watching as the ice cubes clink together against the glass. Forty-five til midnight. Then he can finally slip into bed, tossing and turning on his broken-down mattress for five and a half hours until he finally slips into a nightmare that’s so traumatic he doesn’t sleep for the rest of the day. Rinse and repeat. 

“I’m not the pretty one, am I? He doesn’t look like he’d go for my... manly charms.” Jared turns fully toward Connor then, reaching an arm out to lean against the table, flipping his stupid hair out of his face and winking poorly in Connor’s direction. When Connor only stares through half-lidded eyes, Jared’s free hand comes up to stroke at his jaw, waggling his eyebrows and shooting Connor a crooked grin. 

Connor rests his chin in his hand, looking as far away as possible, pointedly disinterested. “I got the last one. You want him so bad, you take care of it.”

He lets his eyes fall upon the man in question. He’s sitting at the furthest barstool away, secluded in a corner, bent way too far over his drink than he probably should be, considering the fact that it already looks like his spine could snap in half if he were to even glance to either side. The man’s leg bounces up and down as if he’s waiting for something, one hand gripping at his hair, the other loosely holding his untouched drink. His shoulders are raised up to his ears in stress, the definition of coiled-up tension, head hanging low between those shoulders, most of his face obscured except for two furrowed brows and eyes shut tight. 

Jared scoffs at him, shrugging on his jacket with a sigh. “Fine. Then you’re primary when we find the next long-term.”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Such an asshole,” Jared says under his breath. “If this doesn’t work—“

“Plan C, I know,” Connor drones without sparing him a single glance. He can feel Jared’s annoyed gaze lingering on the side of his face for a few moments before he adjusts the collar on his jacket, heading toward the bar. 

Thirty-eight til midnight. A restless night of sleep, and then four more until he disappears for good. 

Connor’s out. He’s done. After months of deliberation and sorting out his finances, he’s finally decided that he can’t do this shit anymore. The only issue is that he hasn’t exactly told Kleinman yet, and to be completely honest, he’s not sure if he even will. It’s probably better if he doesn’t. 

From Connor’s seat, he’s given the perfect view of what will surely be the shit-show of the century. Jared sidles up to the empty seat nearest his target, clearing his throat and looking the man up and down. He doesn’t respond. Jared easily locates the wallet in the man’s front pocket by leaning down to re-tie his shoe, said wallet conveniently on the complete opposite side that Jared’s sitting. Connor smirks to himself. 

This should be good. 

After a few more attention-grabbing techniques that seem to unphase the man at the bar, Jared turns down the bartender and sets his sights on the wallet again. Connor sits up in his chair, eager to see what stops Jared’ll pull out just to—

“Excuse me,” Connor hears from beside him, quickly turning to face the voice in question. “Is this seat taken?”

The woman’s lips curl up in a smile, resting manicured fingers on the back of Jared's chair. Any other night, Connor would play into her advances. It wouldn’t be difficult, considering the fact that she’s objectively very beautiful— a little older than Connor, softness in her round curves and face, gorgeous smile, long, dark hair— but the exhaustion of two hits in one night already plus the current one Jared’s attempting to pull off and Connor’s dire need to get the fuck out of here as soon as he possibly can means that a rejection is in order. 

“My boyfriend might be upset if he has to pull up another chair,” Connor replies, raising his eyebrows at her and nodding toward the bar. He almost feels bile rising in his throat at the word  _ boyfriend _ referring to Kleinman. 

“Gotcha,” The woman smiles, tapping her fingers on the back of the chair. “You two have a lovely night.”

“You too,” Connor calls after her, leaning back on the two back legs of his chair. As he watches her leave, a part of him is glad that she won’t wake up with a decent chunk of change missing from her bank account. 

“Alright, Murphy,” He hears from behind him, Jared’s hand clapping him on his shoulder. 

Connor sighs. “My turn already? Fantastic.” He stands, straightening out his shirt. “You’re paying for my dry-cleaning. And maybe some new jeans. These ones are already worn out in the knees, and—“

“No, dude,” Jared grins wickedly, pressing the wallet into Connor’s chest. “Kleinman’s still got it. Let’s go.”

Connor almost drops it in shock, clutching it to his chest and shoving at Jared’s shoulder as they make their way to the exit. “ _ Kleinman’s _ still  _ sloppy _ ,” Connor hisses, shoving the wallet in his jacket pocket. “The hell are you doing flaunting this shit around?”

“Chill out, bro,” Jared laughs, pushing through groups of people. “Dude’s practically catatonic anyway.”

Connor cringes at the amount of people they have to wade through just to reach the door. “You just swiped it? You’re shitting me.”

“Sure did, Murph. He must be fuckin’ dead inside. Didn’t say a single word. You two might’ve gotten along.”

Connor glances behind him as they approach the double doors. The man’s head is completely down now, resting on his arms. It almost looks like he might be shaking. 

“We’re eating good tonight, pretty boy! Where’re you thinkin’? That one steakhouse is open till one, and I’d  _ kill _ for some shrimp right about now.”

The man finally lifts his head as Jared pushes the doors open, and Connor swears on every deity that’s ever been worshipped that the man’s eyes follow them as they leave. 

“Murphy.”

The two of them step into the cold night air. Jared raises his eyebrows in impatience. 

“Steak,” Connor says distractedly, pulling his jacket tighter around him. “Steak is fine.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
